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Dillon's lips find mine and he kisses me, completing a sort of circuit. I feel charged, bright with ribbons of electricity as all of me turns on all at once. In moments I'm coming and coming, drinking Emmet’s seed deep inside me, smearing Dillon’s seed into my skin.
We drift back to sleep for a little while, unworried, satisfied, complete.
“What do you want for breakfast?” Emmet sighs after a while, as we gradually slide back to waking. He stretches grandly, flexing those beautiful abdominal muscles.
“Well… actually do you think you could ask your driver to take me home?”
Dillon pushes himself up on one elbow, placing his hand in the middle of my chest and pinning me to the mattress playfully. I wriggle, pretending to struggle fruitlessly.
“What are you talking about? You're not leaving. I can make you come two, three more times before lunch.”
“Oh, I know you can!” I smile, briefly considering that thrilling offer. “But I have some work I need to get caught up on.
I want to take a personal day.” I wriggle between them, sliding toward the end of the bed. When I look back over my shoulder, Emmet's feasting his eyes on my naked ass, but Dillon looks more concerned.
“What do you mean, a personal day? Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I'm serious,” I shrug, sliding on my skirt from the night before. I wonder what people in the lobby think of me, traipsing through there in the mornings, wearing the same clothes again. I'm sure I cannot be the only person in building who does that walk of shame, certainly.
“You can work here,” Emmet suggests. “Naked, for instance.”
“You see, that's why I can't work here. Because I would be naked, and I wouldn't be doing anything like work.”
I pick my handbag up off the chair and sling it back over my shoulder. My shoes slide on pretty fast, and I'm filled with a little bit of regret. Do I really want to go? Really?
“What if I promise you that it will be a real workout?” Dillon suggests, quirking an eyebrow at me suggestively.
“Okay… goodbye now, gentlemen!” I call out as I force myself to leave the room, walking back through the penthouse to the private elevator. I keep telling myself this is the right thing to do as I cross the lobby and get in the waiting car. All the way home, I remind myself that I really do have work to do. Books don't just write themselves. All the great ideas and source material in the world do not equal a book. You have to put your ass in the chair and grind it out.
Ooooh, that sounds dirty.
Oh man. I really need to get it together.
And then when I'm finally in front of my Greystone again, that's when I know I really have done it. I just exercised the right amount of discipline. Or at least started to. The still actual work to be done.
It's a good thing I don't have pets, I think as I re-enter my home. I don't even have real houseplants. There are couple of mother-in-law's tongues and philodendrons in the kitchen, but those things would survive the total collapse of civilization. Not even I can kill them. But I certainly haven't been spending a whole lot of time at home. Nothing really seems out of place, but nothing really seems very clean either. There's a little bit of a film of dust, or so I think.
But after a quick shower and change of clothes into yoga pants and an overly large, worn T-shirt, I'm ready to sit down and make this happen.
Here's our story.
I open the document, going back to the very beginning. I met Dillon in a parking garage and mistook him for his brother. I suggested a date. Hannah relayed that information to Emmet. The date began with Dillon.
And then we kissed.
Truthfully, that first kiss blew me away. The warmth of his breath on my cheek as he exhaled, leaning into me, eagerly tasting my lips… That sensation seared through me. I'd forgotten how wonderful it is to be kissed. I'd forgotten how delightful it is to want to be kissed.
And then when Emmet arrived, the confusion returned. I forced myself to remember that I was on a mission and reconstruct my defenses. Also, I had to reconstruct something of my ambition, even while every secret part of me was screaming that I should leave. My cover had been blown. The character I’d created to act out the fantasy was torpedoed to smithereens.
But I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t just give up on everything like that.
And so I forced myself find a way to salvage the story. I had to kiss Emmet as well so that the blogger could see us. That wasn't like me at all, kissing two different men within, say, years of each other. And that aroused something different in me: a feeling of power. The realization that I could actually do this. They were actually going to let me.
They both wanted me.
My eyes scan the transcription, and I scroll through page after page, replaying every scene in my mind as I read through them again. From time to time I add more notes, but I find myself eager to get to the next meeting, the next conversation.
I realize quickly that there's quite a lot of material here. I execute the keystrokes for the word count tool and my mouth drops open. I have a hundred thousand words already. That's a novel, a really long novel.
